


Society Offenders (a.k.a. 'Awaiting the sensation of a short sharp shock')

by aralias



Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Gilbert & Sullivan, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-20
Updated: 2011-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-18 10:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/pseuds/aralias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master is arrested for a reason so daft it might have come straight out of a Gilbert and Sullivan plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Society Offenders (a.k.a. 'Awaiting the sensation of a short sharp shock')

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Попиратели устоев (или В ожидании попадалова)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5615158) by [Kollega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kollega/pseuds/Kollega)



_Scene: In a pestilential prison with a life long lock_   


The Master is kneeling on the floor, half way through picking the lock on his cell, when he hears the Doctor’s footsteps in the corridor beyond. Without looking up, he says, “I expect you’re finding this excessively amusing.”

“Yes, I am rather,” the Doctor says, clearly grinning and slightly out of breath. His trainers squeak on the stone floor and, presently, they appear in the corner of the Master’s vision beneath the Doctor’s striped trousers. “Aren’t you?”

“I can’t say that I am at this precise moment. Perhaps you need to be on the other side of the bars to properly appreciate it.”

“Perhaps,” the Doctor agrees. He reaches a hand through the bars and taps the top of the lock. “Are you doing that manually?”

“As you see.” His captors have already confiscated anything that appeared to be dangerous or a form of technology in advance of their own, which included all of the Master’s possessions except his clothes and a red toothbrush. The toothbrush is useless in the present situation, but the metal wire from his jacket has just enough tensile strength to serve as rudimentary lock picks. The lock itself is pathetically simple — two physical cylinders with eight pins each and a psychic coil — but the Master is out of practise and it’s already slipped away from him twice.

Holding the first four picks in place with his left hand, he locates another with his right and is about to insert it into the lock when the Doctor coughs.

The Master glances up at him. “ _Yes_?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Good. I don’t mean to be rude, but this isn’t as easy as it looks, so unless you have the key on you, I’d appreciate being left in peace.”

“Of course,” the Doctor says. He pushes himself away from the bars against which he has been leaning and ambles back in the direction he appeared from initially. The Master risks a quick look at the Doctor once the other Time Lord is far away enough to be in full view. He is minus coat and hat, his jumper sleeves rolled up to the elbows. From behind, it is a not altogether unpleasant view and, when the Doctor turns around suddenly, the Master’s hands spasm involuntarily and the picks crumple in the lock.

The Doctor stares at him for a moment, and the Master raises an eyebrow.

“Have they told you what you’re charged with?” the Doctor asks.

“No, not yet,” the Master says, removing the hopelessly bent wire from the lock. He pushes himself to his feet, stretches and brushes the dust from his trousers. “However, I imagine it’s something to do with the buildings I destroyed and the population I was about to enslave, the sentence for which is, no doubt, something suitably unpleasant.”

“No. Actually quite the contrary,” the Doctor says, returning to the Master’s cell. He frowns thoughtfully. “You haven’t been to this planet before, have you?”

“I have not,” the Master says. He rests his hands significantly on the bars of the cell. “Nor am I likely to return on purpose.”

“You landed in a bad period,” the Doctor explains. “Your captors, the Jaspe, are a warrior race and I think they rather admired your rash attempt to conquer their planet, single-handed, particularly given the current size of their population. Stop me if I’m boring you.”

The Master waves his hand. “No more than usual.”

The Doctor grins. “Whether by accident or design, you landed in the height of the boom. They’re usually killing each other in one war or another, but it’s not enough. The planet is bursting at the seams. Seventy billion people are trying to live with resources that can only comfortably support fifty, so the new laws preventing unnecessary affection between unmarried citizens were passed last week in the hope of preventing more child-bearing unions. The ban will take effect in two hundred years or so, at which time the affection-laws will be revoked, but unfortunately, for now, even flirting is a criminal offence: the sentence for which is beheading.”

The Master shakes his head. “Always the Gilbert and Sullivan fanatics,” he says sardonically. “I assume you’re rapidly approaching the point of this gripping history.”

“Oh, I already have,” the Doctor says. Then he grins. “I’m afraid, Master, you’ve been arrested for flirting in public.”

“…Really,” the Master says. His hands tighten around the bars.

“Yes. You see, the Jaspe are slightly telepathic and so they correctly identified your efforts to seize control of their home world as a rather embarrassing attempt at getting my attention. They can’t afford to make exceptions this soon after passing the laws.”

“I see.”

The Doctor raises his eyebrows. “You’re not denying it?”

“There doesn’t seem to be much point in doing so,” the Master says. “We can argue semantic distinction once I’ve escaped.” He drums his fingers thoughtfully against the bars. “If, as you say, they’re telepathic, I can’t claim with any credibility that we’re married-”

The Doctor laughs, but with surprise rather than cruelty.

“No,” the Master concludes. “Nor will any be convinced should I claim to be the only son of the Mikado. I can’t pick the lock without a great deal more time, and there’s no telling how long I have left before someone appears with a large axe.”

Briefly, he considers his other alternatives, which form a very short list. It’s possible that the toothbrush could be filed into some sort of weapon, but realistically the only option is the obvious one. The Master sighs. “Doctor, you’re not carrying your sonic screwdriver, are you, by any chance?”

“No,” the Doctor says. “It was… confiscated, a while ago.”

“Wonderful,” the Master says, and starts looking around for the toothbrush.

“I expect I should have replaced it by now,” the Doctor muses as the Master pushes piles of straw aside with his feet and tries not to throttle him through the grate, “but I find I can get on quite well without it. For example, I’m fairly confident I can open this door without the sonic, should you ask nicely.”

“Really,” the Master says, returning to the bars. “But my dear Doctor, how interesting. Do go on.”

The Doctor folds his arms and the Master adds a rather insincere “ _Please_ ” at which the Doctor appears to relent.

“You may remember,” he explains, “that you told me to go away unless I had the key. Well,” he holds up his right hand: a large silver key held between his second and third fingers, “it so happens that I do.”

The Master eyes flick from the key to the Doctor’s face, then he says, with some amusement, “You were arrested as well then.”

“Yes,” the Doctor says, looking at the key in his hand with apparent surprise. “Now, I come to think of it, I was. Rushing to the defence of a planet that can clearly defend itself looks rather bad. Almost as bad as advertising your take-over on all the major frequencies just to make sure I knew exactly when and where you were.” He twists the key in the lock, the pins click into place and the cell door swings gently open.

“Finally,” the Master says and slams the Doctor into the wall behind them.

“Never do that again,” he hisses. “If you have to gloat do so on our own time, not when I’m locked up and sentenced to death.”

“Semantic distinctions, eh?” the Doctor murmurs, glancing pointedly down at where the Master’s errection is digging into his thigh.

“I lied,” the Master says softly, trying to ignore the pressure of the Doctor’s own cock in his stomach. “Which I do well and often. What’s your excuse?”

The Doctor laughs, his head lolling against the wall. “Master,” he says lazily, “I’m a genius. Do you honestly believe I’d waste time lecturing you if there was a chance I’d be discovered and executed?” He shifts his body into a more comfortable arrangement, legs either side of the Master’s own. “After I escaped, I left all the guards from this floor in a temporary time loop.”

“Did you, indeed?” the Master says, and slides one of his hands down to the Doctor’s waist and then over his bottom, drawing him closer. “Well, that’s a different matter all together.”

“I thought you’d understand,” the Doctor says, smiling, his own hands busily undoing the Master’s shirt buttons. “They’ll be fine in an hour or so, by which time we’ll be long gone.”

He ducks his head towards the Master, who takes this as an invitation to shift the Doctor's weight up onto his hips and kiss him hard.

Then a loud wailing alarm begins from somewhere above them.

The Master pulls away and frowns.“Let me get this straight," he says slowly. "All the guards from _this_ floor... are in a time loop."

"Yes."

"So you didn't do anything to the ones upstairs.”

“No. The same thought has just occurred to me."

At the same time they turn to the left where two guards are standing holding spears and glowering.

“Ah,” the Doctor says, as more heavily armed Jaspe appear behind them. “Right. Yes. It looks like we’re really in trouble this time.”

He licks his lips, then grins and gestures to the Master, away from the guards. “After you then.”


End file.
